


Impression

by doublejoint



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23711146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublejoint/pseuds/doublejoint
Summary: He still can’t stop looking at Himuro.
Relationships: Himuro Tatsuya/Liu Wei
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Impression

**Author's Note:**

> every few years i get a burst of optimism that this is finally the year of liuhimu....maybe someday i'll be right
> 
> underage drinking

The streets are quiet under the clouds and a slight enough drizzle to make the world smell wet and to keep people inside, but not enough to make noise or make Liu wish he’d brought an umbrella. Then he wouldn’t have a free hand to imagine holding Himuro’s , casually outside his pocket, fingers curled around nothing. He’s already too obvious when he looks. He’s already too obvious when he doesn’t look and tries to fix his gaze straight ahead, but it just keeps drifting back to Himuro, his head tilted up to look at Liu. 

Liu’s first impression of Himuro was that he was pretty, his second angry and serious. They’re both true, to a degree, but not near all there is to him. (That isn’t even taking into account basketball, which you can’t not do when it comes to him; he’s made it that way on purpose, wove himself into the net like an extra fiber, or maybe he’d woven the net into himself, but it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.) There is the careful way he writes, the way he speaks like he doesn’t want anyone to know (to think?) that he’s more confident a speaker in English than in Japanese. He likes salt and vinegar chips; he drinks protein shakes because he thinks they work, or thinks they might work. He runs longer and harder than anyone else at the end of practice, and when Okamura had told him it wouldn’t make Coach let him into the starting lineup early he’d said that wasn’t why he was doing it and it had sounded like he’d meant it. (He is definitely a liar, but he’d kept doing it after that, after he’d made the starting lineup.)

And all of that adds up to what exactly? Liu’s still not sure, but he wants. He wants to know more, see more, do more. Himuro’s pretty, charming, and friendly to a point, but it’s what Liu doesn’t know that makes him look closer and want more. 

They’re just two classmates, teammates, walking back to the dorm from the convenience store.

* * *

After they lose the Winter Cup, after they come back, after the third-years retire and Himuro is named the new captain and Liu the new vice-captain, Fukui breaks out his secret alcohol stash and they all drink together in Fukui’s room, most of them sitting on the floor with their backs up against the wall or a table leg--Liu’s leaning against the dresser, could be worse despite having no room for his legs. Okamura cries before he’s even had a sip, and Liu can’t blame him. It’s just basketball (as his mother had said on the phone) but people who say that don’t get it. Liu’s down to his last chance; the third-years have none left. 

Fukui presses a bottle of sake into his hand and makes a speech no one listens to about the importance of the vice-captaincy that Liu’s not sure is important enough to listen to. But just in case, he pays enough attention though everyone else is busy drinking and laughing and crying.

“And you have to recite the vice-captain’s creed every day--Himuro, are you paying attention? You need to make sure he does this.”

Himuro’s already polished off most of his drink, but he looks completely unfazed.

“Liu, he’s just pulling your leg.”

“Hey, come on! Play along,” says Fukui.

“Are you sure?” says Liu.

Fukui’s turned back to one of the other third-years, and Himuro leans in, his breath drawing across Liu’s ear, hot and dry. 

“Even if he’s serious, I’m not going to make you do it. Waste of time.”

Liu would prefer if Himuro didn’t move away, and for a second his mouth hovers over Liu’s ear, and then he leans back, nearly spilling his drink. Liu unscrews the cap of his sake bottle.

* * *

Liu spends a week torturing himself with the what-if scenarios, like what if he’d stretched his legs out into Himuro’s lap, what if he’d kissed Himuro when they’d walked back to their floor of the dorms together late at night, what if he’d moved to make it very easy for Himuro to lean on him? What if he’s missed his only chance?

Things have changed; they can’t not. Himuro and Liu are now spending more time together, in Coach’s office and with their teammates, after practice and in class. Himuro does not make Liu recite the vice-captain’s oath, even if it’s a real thing. Even though circumstances have changed, nothing has changed between them. There is still a gap, still nothing like those few seconds (couldn’t have been more than ten) when Liu’s mouth was close enough to nearly brush his skin. And he still can’t stop looking at Himuro.

The nights are cold and dark and long. It would be better to not be alone in his poorly-insulated room.

* * *

The dorms empty out over New Year’s, except for the international students. Liu calls his parents, talks to his brothers on the phone a bit, and then resolves to have a nice nap before dinner. As he’s settling into bed, there’s a knock on the door.

He shouldn’t hope it’s Himuro, but he does, and it is.

“Do you want to go for a walk?”

Liu nods.

Ice has frozen over the snow so that it crunches under their footsteps; sometimes they nearly trip and fall as their feet sink in farther than expected. It’s already dark enough to see which rooms in the dorms are still occupied, the students who are still here and the ones who’d left the lights on. Himuro says very little, an occasional comment about the snow or about the trees, but he’s avoiding the subject like a defender in his way on the court, like he’s spinning the ball on his finger and distracting from the very obvious thing Liu should be paying attention to just behind him. 

They reach an archway that opens up into an alcove, shielded from the snowdrifts. Somewhere above them a bird chirps, and Liu has to duck his head to fit underneath it. His face is close to Himuro’s, like back in Fukui’s dorm room. And this time, neither of them hesitates.


End file.
